


Coming Up

by ChameleonCircuit



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Caretaker Peter, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sick Sonny, Sickfic, Vomiting, emeto, starisi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 02:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChameleonCircuit/pseuds/ChameleonCircuit
Summary: "Sonny, are you alright?"He swallows hard and shakes his head, and Peter knows instantly what’s going on. Out of nowhere, Sonny’s gone as white as a sheet, throat working hard as he swallows repeatedly.





	Coming Up

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for some pretty gross descriptions of vomiting :)
> 
> Huge thank you to my beta, keraunoscopia
> 
> Look, I wrote some SVU again! This isn't my usual style of writing, but I hope it works.

It feels like Sonny has been staring at case files in the dim light of Peter’s office for days now, not hours, complete silence overtaking them since they’d eaten dinner, and the words in front of him were starting to blur together, making his head hurt. He frowns, rubbing at his eyes before looking up at the clock on the wall in favour of having to squint at the tiny hands of his own watch. It takes a moment for the numbers to come into focus, head spinning in a way that makes his stomach turn.

He sighs at the realisation that it’s only 8:30. Rubbing his eyes again, he glances over at Peter, who’s absorbed in his own set of files, eyes scanning the pages with the same focus he always applies. He looks down at his own file, stomach churning uncomfortably at the moment, words blurring together again before coming into focus.

“You want any more of that?” Peter asks suddenly, breaking the silence and causing Sonny to whip his head up so fast his head spins.

Peter nods towards the empty takeout container beside him, and he glances at its contents, not much more than a cold mess of vegetables and sauce left, and his stomach churns again, the bitter tang of bile hitting the back of his throat so suddenly that his heart stops for a second. He swallows down the feeling and shakes his head.

“Nah,” he breathes out, turning back to the file in front of him, but the churning in his stomach won’t stop now.

He was sure he couldn’t smell anything before, but suddenly all he can smell is the leftover takeout sitting beside him, the smell only growing stronger as Peter picks it up, wafting it unintentionally in Sonny’s direction. He grips the edge of his seat as a wave of nausea hits him so hard he feels his body roll with it, and it takes every ounce of concentration he has not to empty the contents of his stomach all over the floor of Peter’s office.

The feeling subsides after a few moments, but his stomach continues churning, mouth filling with saliva faster than he can seem to swallow it. He can feel Peter standing beside him and turns to offer him a smile, but just the movement alone has his vision swimming, and he can feel the contents of his stomach attempting to work their way up his throat.

"Sonny, are you alright?"

He swallows hard and shakes his head, and Peter knows instantly what’s going on. Out of nowhere, Sonny’s gone as white as a sheet, throat working hard as he swallows repeatedly, and Peter quickly places the empty takeout containers on his desk before grabbing the trash can, shoving it in front of Sonny just in time for him to double over, coughing once before emptying the contents of his stomach with a painful-sounding heave.

Peter places a gentle hand on Sonny’s back as he retches again, and Sonny’s sure he would feel embarrassed if he could stop vomiting for long enough to think about anything other than how disgusting and miserable he suddenly feels.

His grip on the trash can slips, hands too shaky and clammy to maintain a hold, but Peter’s there, still rubbing soothing circles on Sonny’s back as he holds the bin up for Sonny to vomit into, now nothing more than bile and froth.

It feels like he's sitting there heaving long after there's anything left to come up, but eventually it stops. Eventually his stomach stops clenching, and he sits back, swiping his shaky hand across his mouth.

"Feel better?" Peter asks, voice soft and gentle.

Sonny groans and shakes his head, covering his face with his hand, embarrassment belatedly flooding him. It’s bad enough being sick on your own, but it’s another thing entirely to be sick in front of someone else, someone you want to like you, someone you might potentially have feelings for.

"Sorry," he croaks out, and Peter laughs awkwardly.

"It's okay. Not your fault."

"Still embarrassing," Sonny mutters, but he flashes Peter a weak smile nonetheless, hoping the worst is over and they can put it behind them.

“Come on,” he says, standing up slowly and extending his hand for Sonny to take. “I’ll drive you home.”

“No,” Sonny says with a small shake of his head, which forces him to swallow hard again as the world spins around him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Peter says, voice a little more stern. “And I’m driving you home.”

Sonny stands, opening his mouth to protest, but the world spins so hard and fast he nearly loses his balance, and he’s forced to concede as Peter wraps an arm around his shoulders to steady him.

They’ve barely made it out of the building before Sonny has to stop to throw up again, just a barely-there string of bile and saliva. Peter feels absolutely awful for him, wishing he could do more than hold the trash can and make sure Sonny doesn’t keel over. 

It’s a slow journey the rest of the way to the car. Sonny’s legs have all but turned to jelly, and each step jostles his queasy stomach in a way that makes him want to cry. But he won’t. He refuses to add crying in front of Peter to his embarrassment.

The churning in his stomach stops once he sits down, face pressed against the window and though he doesn’t say anything, he’s glad that Peter doesn’t start the car right away. He takes a few deep, calming breaths before spitting out the build-up of saliva in his mouth, willing the taste of bile to leave the back of his throat.

They’re only halfway down the road when Sonny starts dry heaving again, body convulsing painfully even though there’s absolutely nothing left to bring up. Each ragged, shaky breath that Sonny sucks in between heaves sounds like a sob, and Peter feels a pang in his chest every time.

"How about I take you to the hospital,” he suggests when it doesn’t look like Sonny’s going to stop any time soon.

Sonny shakes his head, the movement causing him to groan and retch again before muttering, "I just want my own bed."

"Okay,” Peter says quietly, reaching over to place his hand between Sonny’s shoulder blades, rubbing gently. “Understandable.”

By the time they get to Sonny's, he looks on death’s door, pale and shaky, clutching his stomach, eyes cloudy and tired. Peter helps him up to his apartment and walks with him all the way to his bedroom, slow and steady as Sonny practically sags against him. He doesn't say anything when Sonny whimpers, pressing his face into the pillow, but his heart clenches in sympathy. He leaves only to find a face cloth and a bucket to replace the trash can from his office, and pours a glass of water before coming back to Sonny's room.

Sonny takes a small sip of water, throat burning, but he's gagging almost instantly, the water coming straight back up, and Peter sighs as he sits on the end of the bed, rubbing Sonny's back again as he clutches the bucket between his hands and his knees, forehead resting on the rim.

Sonny can feel the tears in his eyes, and he takes a deep breath, which only causes him to gag again, the smell of watery bile filling his nose. He groans, forcing his head out of the bucket even though he feels sure he’s going to end up right back in there at any moment.

"I'm gonna go home for a moment, I've got something that might help, but I'll be back," Peter says once Sonny's laid back down, eyes closed.

"You don't have to come back," Sonny replies in a small voice.

Peter smiles, giving his hand a small pat as he stands. "I'll be back. You gonna be okay?"

Sonny nods, and Peter squeezes his hand before leaving.

He takes Sonny's key before heading home to grab some antiemetic drugs he knows his father had, that he now has, because he somehow still can't bring himself to clean anything out despite knowing how much of it is things he will never need, or even want, to look at. His next stop is a small bodega, where he grabs the mildest looking soup he can find and some ginger ale.

He’s quiet when he returns, not wanting to disturb Sonny in case he's fallen asleep, but then he hears retching coming from the bedroom and feels a fresh pang of sympathy in his chest, because he knows exactly how Sonny must be feeling, and he wishes there was more he could do.

"Hey," he says quietly from the door once Sonny's laid back down, and Peter can see tear tracks down his face, and his heart clenches at the sight.

"Hey," Sonny chokes out, voice shaky.

Peter sighs, settling at the end of the bed again. "I've got some medication for you, and some ginger ale and chicken soup for later, but--"

Sonny moves faster than Peter would've thought capable, retching over the bucket again, curling in on himself as he half sobs, half heaves, saliva dripping from his mouth.

"No food," Sonny groans before spitting, and Peter can't help but laugh.

"Okay, no food. But you have to try and take this." Peter hands him two of the tiny tablets. "Just a small sip of water."

Sonny complies before wiping the tears from his face.

"I'm not crying," he mutters, and Peter laughs again. "I'm not. It just hurts."

"I know," he replies gently, running his fingers into Sonny’s hair as he lays back down.

They sit there for a while in silence, and slowly Sonny's breathing evens out from short, sharp little shuddering gasps to something far more normal and relaxed. Eventually, the trembling throughout his entire body dies down, and Peter can tell he's bordering on sleep, so he carefully gets up and heads to the kitchen, placing the soup and ginger ale in the fridge before settling on the couch. He's not sure if he should leave or stay, but the thought of leaving without knowing if Sonny's okay doesn't sit right with him. Instead, he makes himself comfortable, turns the TV on, muted with captions, and hopes Sonny won't see it as an intrusion when he wakes up.

\---

Peter wakes up disoriented, not entirely sure where he is for a moment. He blinks against the harsh light of the TV in the dark room, rubbing his neck as he sits up properly. After a moment, he realises he can hear the shower running, and he feels a flash of relief at the fact that Sonny's okay enough to be upright, followed by a surge of anxiety that he's overstayed his welcome. But before he can really think to act on that, the shower's stopped and Sonny's stepping out of the bathroom, towel hung low on his waist, body still dripping wet.

"Oh!" Sonny awkwardly grabs at his towel, glad he'd covered up, because he honestly thought Peter would have gone home. "You're still here."

"Yeah, uh, sorry, I fell asleep."

"No, that's okay. That's...fine. Um…” Sonny stutters out, a light blush settling across his nose. “Thank you. Sorry for...all of that. Um--”

"Are you feeling better?" Peter asks, cutting Sonny’s rambling off.

"Yeah," He breathes out, running a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back off his face.

Peter’s eyes track the movement, watching as droplets of water slip from Sonny’s hair, over his shoulder and down his chest. He swallows hard, shaking his head a little before forcing his eyes back up to Sonny’s face, which is decidedly more red than it was before.

"Um...don't go,” Sonny says quickly, taking a hasty step towards his bedroom. “I'll get dressed, I'll be back in a moment."

He tries to ignore the nerves bubbling up inside of him as he quickly dries himself off and puts some comfortable clothes on. He’s not entirely sure why he’s nervous. Peter has been in his house before, they’ve sat on that couch before, to watch a game or go over case files. But this feels more intimate, and not just because Peter had just seen him practically naked.

Suddenly nervous and fidgety, Peter checks the time on his phone, rubbing at his eyes when he realises it’s just past four in the morning. He sits back down on the couch, on the edge at first, before he sinks back into the cushions, trying to look less nervous than he suddenly feels.

"You want some soup?" He asks quietly as Sonny steps into the room.

Sonny groans in response, flopping down beside Peter. "Please don’t mention food to me ever again.”

"At least have some ginger ale?"

Sonny hesitates for a moment before nodding, and Peter gets up to pour him a glass, relieved to have something to do other than think about how badly he wants to pull Sonny against his side, run his fingers through his damp hair like he had done earlier.

"Why are you hosting me in my own home?" Sonny mutters as Peter comes back

He feels his face heat up as he mutters a sheepish, "Sorry,” handing the glass over to Sonny as he sits back down.

"No, it's okay, just...feels like bad manners."

"You're sick,” Peter says softly, offering a small smile. “I think you can be excused just this once."

Sonny groans again with a small laugh covering his face. "I'm so sorry."

"What for?"

"For having to deal with that. For interrupting work. For--"

Peter cuts him off with a laugh. "It's not like you did it on purpose.”

Sonny sighs and shrugs, fingertips playing with the condensation on the glass. For a moment, Peter thinks he’s not going to respond, but just as he’s about to mention the early hour, say something about heading home, Sonny looks up at him through his lashes with a smile bordering on shy, and Peter’s words stick in his throat.

“You’re too good,” Sonny says, voice barely above a whisper.

Peter feels an unexpected lump form in his throat, heart hammering against his ribs. "You'd do the same for me."

"Yeah," Sonny reaches over to lace his fingers with Peter’s. "I would."


End file.
